elif
She winds through the streets of Solterra with all the ease and familiarity of a hawk riding a thermal, but there is nothing predatory about Elif at the moment.
The pegasus, too, has been swept up in the excitement, burning through the court like a fire, like the idea of it alone might be enough to melt the snow. A hunt with Solis himself - and the thought that he had been here, present, is enough to make her thrill like a girl even though she hadn’t been present.
The streets today have a festival air. All that is left of the stores are on offer; few are worried about tomorrow, now their god is on their side. Around her music rises and the wind carries the beloved scents of her home, a stark overlay on the clean cold smell of snow.
She is drawn to the sight of the stallion as much as the scent of the stand he’s at - the swagger of him, the gleam of his horns, the healing slash along his flank. The net of gemstones draped across his hindquarters gleams like his eyes, and her curiosity and her hunger are both so very alive.
“Make it two,” she says as she draws next to him, and then flicks her gaze between the girls (one of whom she knows, and thinks a silly, vapid thing) and the big white stallion, standing proud as Solis himself. “I hope I’m not interrupting,” she adds, aiming for wryness but falling more sharp.
Elif has never been as deft and nimble with her words as she has her wings.
@El Toro
